


Let yourself think.

by garnetsgauntlets



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Coping, Dream Bubbles, POV Second Person, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9313322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garnetsgauntlets/pseuds/garnetsgauntlets
Summary: Your name is Equius Zahhak and you cannot sleep because you cannot stop thinking about her.This is a self insert story that i wrote at about 11 PM on a wednesday. As the reader, you're supposed to read it and put yourself into the story, relate somehow, get something out of it. Understand what he's feeling, yada yada. I guess you can read it and put yourself in Equius's shoes and then put someone in the other characters' shoes??I suppose it's an experiment. I just really like the way it turned out.I hope you get something out of it, and/or enjoy it.Sorry for spelling shit wrong, not being grammatically right all the time.





	

Your name is Equius Zahhak and you cannot sleep. It isnt that you're too hot; you're always too hot. Nor is it that you're thirsty, or hungry, neither of those things are ever really an issue.  
You cannot sleep because you cannot stop thinking about her.  
She plagues your mind.

You get up out of your recuperacoon, thinking a distraction will either tire you out or deter your thoughts away from her.  
You push your glasses up your nose bridge and grab a stray pony-tail from your recupera-side table. It's black, and as you walk out of your respiteblock into the main room of your hive you tie your hair out of your face. A few straggly pieces fall out of the pony-tail but you just brush them behind your ears. Rubbing the back of your neck, you look around your hive.  
It's relatively home-y, whatever that means; consisting of multiple dark blue lounge chairs (the reason behind why you own them is unclear), a large telescreen of which usually only projects your wildest of hoofbeast romcoms, and a tiny, black and white portrait of a particularly muscular musclebeast that your moirail gifted to you. Said painting is so intriguing and wonderful that you can only look for a fleeting moment before your pores are leaking sweat and you must look away with a murmur.

"Fiddlesticks."

Not only is that "fiddlesticks" aimed towards your unquenchable thirst for the strength those beasts possess, but it is also reserved for the undeniable pangs in your chest. You could call it lust, but you think the more appropriate word to define the pangs is mere want. The want in your chest is for her, her scent, her skin, her voice, her laugh, everything about her, you just want to be in the same room as her.  
There is a difference between lust and want, you tell yourself as you make your way to your work station. There is a half finished robot laying on the table. It does not have a head or arms; you prefer to make the inners first, then the limbs, and last the head. The older Strider had requested you build a nut creature for him, and what was upon the table was all you were able to get done before you grew tired and went to bed. You push your glasses up once more; you should really attempt to fix them. You look down at your gloved hands. They're too rough and large to fix your glasses, though. You'd break them even more. A thought creeps into your thinkpan, like a tiny marchbug. She could fix them for you. Her delicate hands would easily tighten the screws that hold the glasses to your nose. You close your eyes, smelling her sweet breath against your cheeks as-

"Fiddlesticks", you murmur again. You cannot get her out of your head. It seems as if every hour you breathe she is there in some way. Even your dreams are filled with images of her, so real that when you wake up you swear she was just right next to you.   
You blink and rub your face. You grab a screwdriver and pick up the nut creature. It's small enough that you can lift it with one hand yet heavy enough that holding it for too long hurts your triceps. Working with the screwdriver incredibly slow, you pry open two pieces of sheet metal o the side of the nut creature to make a slit large enough to attach a left arm. You've already made the arm -- it sits on the table and cannot be more than 3 human inches long. The slit in the body of the nut creature only needs to be large enough for you to slip the wires sticking out of its arm in, and then you can go through the panel in the nut creature's tummy. When the wires from the arm are inside the nut creature's tummy, you can then adhere them to the multitude of other wires inside of the tummy, thus making the arm moveable.  
It is an incredibly difficult process, because if you make the slit too large, you will not be able to make the side of the nut creature nearly as smooth as it was before you attempted to create the slit. 

This, of course, immediately becomes the case.

Her smile flashes in front of your eyes, and you blink back angry, burning tears. Why does she haunt you like this, you wonder as you put the robot and screw driver down as gently as your strong hands can. You turn away from your work station, posting your hands against the table behind you for support. The tears spill over onto your cheeks, and they make you feel like rubbish. Why cry over spilled milk, you wonder, she is not yours nor will she ever be, so why are you so concerned with her smile, the one that makes you feel like your insides are melting, why are you so intrigued by the curve of her lips when she DOES smile, why are you so worried about whether she is happy, why do you think about whether or not you can make her happy when in fact you cannot-

You are on the cold concrete of your workstation. You've sunk to your knees, and snot fills your nose as you attempt to hold back the tears.  
You are stronger than this, you tell yourself.   
No you're not, you bumbling idiot.   
You love her, for Signless's sake.   
You really do love her. You think she is the best thing on this godforsaken planet, and yet she doesn't even know you exist. Or, if she does, she won't give you the time of day.

You plop your bottom onto the concrete and bring your knees to your chest. You sniffle and wipe the tears off your cheeks with the back of your hand. Taking off your glasses and laying them on the concrete next to you, you rub your eyes for a long time. When you open them, and the multitude of colors from pushing too hard have dispersed, you stare blankly at the other side of the room. Perhaps...one fleeting thought...would be all right. Perhaps it would even make you feel better? You close your eyes and try to breathe deeply, and recall the best memory you can of her.

It is of when the two of you laid at the top of a large hill, grassy and green. The other players were elsewhere, and you honestly could not have cared less because you were with her. You were on your back, arms behind your head with your legs stretched out, and she was sitting down, arms behind her propping her up. You snuck glances at her, just to look, admire her, if you will.  
She had looked down at you, smiled and said, "Don't you think this is beautiful?".  
You had turned your head to look her in the eye. "I can think of a million things that are beautiful, and I think that this can be added to the list of beautiful things that I have in my head." She threw her head back and laughed, and you furrowed your brow, wondering what you had said that could have made her laugh like that. Did you say something wrong? No, you thought out your answer, picked the words carefully. "Why are you laughing?", you had asked. "You, silly." She had replied, looking back at you. "You are so proper, and precise, and I like the way you think."   
You had blinked a few times, processing the compliment, if it even was such. "Well, thank you. It is true after all, that I can recall many things that are beautiful. For example, there is this one moving picture show that I saw once, with this beautiful musclebeast, oh it was just a rippling beast and-" You cut yourself off, realizing this was probably a stupid thing to talk about when she was referring to the grass and the sky as the things that were beautiful, not your stupid fantasies or movies.   
"Why did you stop?" she had asked, swinging her legs around to sit criss-cross, facing you. "Stop what?", you had replied. "Talking." she said simply, smiling that amazing smile once again that made you feel like you would just deteriorate into the grass, become one with the hill you two were sitting upon.  
"I don't know, I guess...I suppose I thought that what I was saying was uninteresting." you replied, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. She continued to smile at you, and you could feel your face getting hotter and hotter.   
"Oh, Equius. I don't think that you're uninteresting." She said, chuckling slightly. She placed her hand on your bicep, and told you to go on. "Keep talking, Equius."  
Her hand felt like freshly ignited coals on your skin, burning an indentation of her soft hand onto your skin. Good, you thought, I don't want her to move. So you started talking again. Anything to keep that lovely smile on her face, anything to watch her eyes crinkle in the slightest, to look at her rosey cheeks and  
...  
The memory began to fade.   
No, no you did not want it to go. You wanted to stay on that hill longer, be with her for longer, listen to her for longer. "Wait", you call out, the memory fading and your workroom coming back into your field of vision.  
You were back on the concrete.   
For once in your life you were cold, and extremely tired. It must be way past one in the morning at this point. You tell yourself you're okay, that now you're tired enough to sleep.  
You push yourself to your feet, wobbling a little, for you were in the same uncomfortable position for quite some time. Your bicep burns slightly, and you rub it with your fingers.   
Maybe one day, you can feel that burning for real again, instead of in just a memory.  
You shuffle back to your recuperacoon, and resolve to talk to your moirail about these feelings. That is what she is there for, is it not? To help you, to lend a hand. For weakness is not truly weak, but it is the hiding of said weakness that is.   
Someone, somewhere, said that and it had stuck in your mind.  
Yeah, you think, you'll talk to your moirail about these feelings.   
But, in the morning. After you've gone to sleep.  
Your name is Equius Zahhak, and you can finally sleep.


End file.
